


The wrath of heaven upon them

by CinderEmber



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, Inspired by Art, what-ifs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:45:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderEmber/pseuds/CinderEmber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You think you chose a new hero. But what if you must chose who will stay alive? <br/>~ man-of-mischief</p>
            </blockquote>





	The wrath of heaven upon them

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the art of [this tumblr post](http://man-of-mischief.tumblr.com/post/130262247707/my-little-theory-about-the-beginning-of-the-game), and the meta discussion there-in. Originally posted to [my tumblr](http://cinder-ember.tumblr.com/post/130343796919/man-of-mischief-my-little-theory-about-the).

The Chantry sang that the Maker’s hand could be felt in all things. That none would be left to wander the drifting roads. That nothing that He has wrought shall be lost forever. But if that was true, then why were they forgotten, passed over? How could the Maker value one of His children over all the others? He wondered what sin he had committed, to have caused the Maker to turn His Light away, to leave him in a darkness shot with green fire.

The Qun taught that struggle was an illusion. That to fight the tide of what is and the tide of what would be is to waste one’s being. That nothing a person did could change the sea. But if that was true, then why did it matter which of them left their post and raced towards the great hall? Why did it matter who remained behind? She wondered how the world would change without their presence in it. The sea might never notice the loss of a single drop, but the man dying of thirst in the desert would. Who would miss them when they were gone, lost in rubble and green smoke?

The Stone rejected those who would make Her weak. Only those who would seek to restore balance to the Stone, who would carve out the worst parts of themselves in sacrifice to the bone of the earth - only they were considered worthy of admiration, of wealth, of recognition. But the Stone didn’t make those decisions - noblemen and politics and the sick chance of birth decided, long before a dwarf could even stand to make their own choices. He wondered what defined worth in a world where the Stone cracked beneath his feet and the sky burned green.

The Creators spoke no longer, but their echoes lingered - in song and in story, in stone and in ruin. Each asked of their followers something different - vengeance, forgiveness, dedication, creation. Each demanded of their followers a willingness to believe - that once upon a fireside tale, they had been great, and that they would one day rise again. But to anyone beyond the edges of the forest, they were just tales - stories to teach a lesson, to inspire children. She wondered what story her Clan would tell of her, what lesson they would derive from her actions amidst the crackle of green lightning.

And then the wrath of heaven was upon them.


End file.
